Eye of the Falcon (Psychic Visions #12)(14)

When he’d cleaned them, Gray had said someone had taken a knife and sliced the bottom of her pads, not very deep, but just enough that, with every step, they would split and cause her excruciating pain. The torture had been extensive and continuous, so that she was either held for someone’s sadistic pleasure or somebody wanted something from her very badly. That she’d been tortured for as long as she had been, he figured she hadn’t given it to them. Now the real question was, did she have what they wanted, or had she been tortured for nothing because she didn’t know anything? He’d seen that happen too. He’d also seen an insurgent leader who liked to torture for fun. For him it was stress relief. The screams of others made him feel better.

Darkness settled outside. With the soup simmering to his satisfaction, he turned his attention back to the weaponry he had laid out on the kitchen table. He took very good care of his arsenal. Right now each was getting a special bit of attention. As he cleaned and oiled them, he lined up the ammunition he might need. No way in hell would somebody get into this house and get at her without him being ready. There was still no guarantee he would fight off an attack, as that would depend on what they had for weapons and the sheer numbers of those coming. If it was one or two, no problem. But, if fifteen to twenty, his body was still organic, and it took bullets like anything else.

He’d heard what she’d said, that maybe she’d killed one man. There hadn’t been any emotion in her tone when she’d said it. He hadn’t known if that was deliberate or pure detachment so as not to feel the pain of having taken another’s life—and possibly the loss of clear memory over the event. He’d done enough missions and seen enough action that the pain of killing someone in self-defense was something he could deal with.

In her case, he suspected trauma was responsible for her lack of emotion.

He glanced through the open doorway where she slept once again. He’d tucked her back into bed, and she hadn’t moved. He didn’t even think she had rolled over. He worried about her ribs though. Remembering what he’d planned to do earlier when he heard her getting up, he reached for his phone and called Annie. When the gruff old veterinarian and ex-military nurse answered, he asked, “Do you have a portable X-ray machine?”

“Yes,” she answered testily. “But it’s still not that portable.”

“Portable enough to put into the back of the vehicle and come to my house to take an X-ray of something extremely damaged?”

“Maybe.”

“I got an unopened bottle of Jack Daniel’s sitting here for you.”

“As much as I like my liquor,” she said with a snap, “I still have bills to pay.”

“The price?”

“What’s the broken item?”

“A secret.”

“Goddammit, what kind of trouble are you in now?” she asked in a huff.

“Maybe killing trouble.”

He heard her suck in her breath. “You could call for help.”

“I am,” he said quietly and hung up the phone.





Chapter 6





When Issa opened her eyes again, the sharp agonizing pain was back. She moaned as she was gently straightened out, her shirt raised up to her neck, then cold hands poked and prodded her chilled skin. She cried out in pain.

“It’s all right. Take it easy. We’re checking your ribs. We need to make sure you haven’t broken anything.”

Issa gave a garbled laugh. If they only knew. Breaks upon breaks. Small ones, nasty ones, meant to extract information. Information she didn’t have. When she was twisted ever-so-slightly the wrong way, she cried out again, a scream of pain echoing around the room. She shuddered.

“Damn. Wished that had made her black out,” a gruff voice muttered.

Issa whimpered, wishing for the same. She opened her eyes to see a bright light overhead. Some weird machine was beside her. “What are you doing?” she asked fearfully.

“Taking X-rays,” the gruff woman said, but compassion was in her voice at odds with the harshness of her raspy tone. “Stay still. We need to see the extent of the damage.”

“It’s bad.”

“We’ll see. Just let me get all the pictures I need.”

In pain and too exhausted to do anything other than lie here, she let them do what they would. As soon as they were done with her shoulders, arms, hands and chest, her pants were removed, and her lower body was X-rayed. Finally she was redressed and tucked back under the blankets. She curled eagerly into the heat. She could feel the shakes starting all over again. “Roash?” she whispered, calling to him in her mind.

“I don’t know what that is. Eagle, do you know what she’s asking for?”

She made a tiny calling sound. She could hear Roash. There in the far reaches of her mind she could hear his response.

“Jesus Christ, those damn birds. Why did you let them in the house?” the woman asked.

“This one came with her,” the man said.

Roash landed on the bed, his beak gently stroking Issa’s cheek, an odd rumble once again coming up his throat. She rumbled back at him. Content, knowing at least he was safe with her, she let herself fall back asleep.

But her dreams weren’t pleasant, and her sleep wasn’t restful. She surfaced again and again, each time to see the room in shadows with nothing but the moonlight shining through the windows. It was the same room. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She didn’t dare try to run. The memory of the last time was enough to make her stomach start heaving. But she could still hear the raspy voice, only farther away now.